Fading Pawsteps
by Lightning of the West
Summary: Echoes of the past rang out loudly. They tell a story, one of lost souls who wander aimlessly in search of clarity and most of all peace while struggling to escape the snares of their pasts. But connection to the past is not so easily broken as they would have hoped, if at all possible. They'll continue running until then. Moving forward is all they have left now.
1. Chapter 1

Laughter filled the air as a slovenly figure encrusted over in a coat of mud materialized from the dingy depths of a trench. It sloshed its way a path through the thick muck, a suction noise like pop sounding each time it forcibly snatched a grime laden foreleg out of the brown sludge.

The foul smelling filth clung to the being's body like a new layer of skin. The muck weighed its form down in the most disconcerting way possible as the being painstakingly struggled to use their dirt caked claws to scale their way up and out of the swamped gully all the while as merry laughter sung through the air directed at it.

This desperate and annoyed swamp creature was me. The one baring the full brunt of mocking laughter was sadly me as well.

This was the unfortunate reality of what transpired when someone was careless enough to camp out the night in a sewer pipe located in a ditch in the midst of a rainstorm while sharing the company of a mischievous she-cat. The irate expression plastered across my face, along with goops of mud, was evidence enough of what particular mood I was currently in.

I've been off on my own for nearly eight moons now, and incidents like climbing out of a pool of mud seemed to be the highlight of my day as a wandering healer. No outbreak of sicknesses or cats in need of aid, unless the cat in question entailed me, though truthfully it was probably a sign of good fortune that I've as of yet encounter someone needing my help.

Besides _**her**_, of course.

At least my herbs are still clean, I acknowledge in a fleeting thought of goodwill. My mind jumped to the bulging bundle of cobweb clasped tightly in my jaws. It contained my livelihood, or to be more exact, near every single herb that was a necessity to my craft as a medicine cat.

_**Ex-medicine cat**_, a sardonic voice sounded off in my head. I snorted out loud to myself. That was true, I suppose. If we were going by present time the title of medicine cat was not something I would readily stand up to claim currently.

With a grunt of exertion, I was able to dig my claws into the dirt and heave my way out of the ditch. I crawled onto level land, pausing momentarily to catch my breath, and cast a last parting glance down into the dark hovel I'd just haphazardly clawed my way out of.

The only question that now remained was where the one responsible for my tumble into it was?

I didn't have long to wait before I got my answer in the form of a bemused, slender she-cat that lay awaiting me some pawsteps away on the bank of the ditch. Everything about her radiated smugness. From the amused twinkle in her eye to the way in which her soft creamy fur puffed out and tail twitched, there wasn't a thing about her that concealed the merriment she got from watching me trudge around in mud.

"You're a plague to my life and every creature that walks this land," I growled, spitting out my bundle of herbs and plopping down onto my muddy romp in disgust.

Grinning, she flashed her fangs which gleamed bright under the sheen from the sun. "Is that anyway to speak to your mate, Whitepaw?"

"I don't recall ever agreeing to that," I replied grimly, beginning to roughly scrape scoops of goop out of my fur, visibly reeling at the gunky taste. "You're liable to give the wrong impression to others if you continue saying that."

"And what would that be?" she purred slightly, rising to her paws and slowly slinking to my side. "We're traveling together, correct? We offer each other company while keeping the other warm at night, don't we? We also look out for each other. You're an exceptional healer and I'm an incredibly skilled hunter that keeps you fed day by day. To any outsider it would appear only obvious that we're in a relationship. Why else would such a beautiful cat like me be caught following around such a sour and baleful tom, if not for love?"

I buried my head in the dirt, sighing heavily as I wearily glanced up to meet her amused gaze again. "Would you remind me again why it is that you love me?"

"Why, because you're my hero," she seemed to recite for the umpteenth time, smiling at my annoyed expression. "The selfless and courageous, heroic white savior that appeared from the heavens and braved sure death to rescue me from an untimely demise without batting a single eye the entire time. I owe you my life. You're my peace of mind. My one and true hope in this world."

"Why do I feel like you're mocking me when you say it that way?"

"Oh, but I mean every single word of it, Whitepaw," she stated matter of factly. "I love you."

I frowned. And that was the problem. As much as she said and did things to get under my skin and drive me mad, it was always when she allegedly professed her love to me that I couldn't determine whether or not she was joking. This was troubling for someone in a position like me, especially since she was a cat that did nothing but joke and endlessly tease me.

"I've explained this before to you already, Canary," I spoke tiredly. "I'm a medicine cat, so you know that we can never be anything more than what we are now."

She hummed softly, her tail twitching back and forth slowly as she observed me. "From what I remember you said that you were no longer that kind of healer, so that excuse doesn't work. And beyond that, only a fool would deny someone their heart's desire, Whitepaw."

"Despite my absence of title, I still abide by the code of the Medicine cats," I responded hotly. "So I'll continue to deny you all I want."

A smile split her lips. "So you're admitting that you're a fool?"

"Wah, no! Weren't you listening to a thing I said? I'm-" The words died in my throat the moment the implications of her own words slid into place for me. I'd been led straight into a trap.

Feeling my spine stiffen and fur begin to heat up in embarrassment, I silently busied myself with trying to remove the rest of the mud from out of my coat. Four moons I've had to put up with this and it only seemed to grow tougher as the days grew longer.

Fidgeting with laughter, Canary lowered herself so that the two of us were now sitting eye level. Being this close, I couldn't help but notice just how the corners of her lips involuntarily twitched as if she was constantly trying to fight back a smile. Knowing just how much she loved to torment me, I wasn't too surprised to see this as I stared back sourly.

"You really are cute when you pout like that," she said much to my own continued displeasure. "I'm going out to hunt. I should be back shortly, so try to have yourself cleaned up by then. I'd hate for someone to come by and think I let you go around playing in the mud."

She said this sweetly, like a mother to her kit, and then rose up to go. As her body turned, I caught sight of a jagged scar running down the side of her body like a bolt of lightning. It stuck out tremendously against her otherwise soft and spotless creamy coat. Such abhorrent harshness contrasted against a backdrop of benign tenderness.

For me it was a brutal reminder of the first time I'd met Canary, and for her an apparent symbol of the cat that had saved her life. I hadn't thought about much of anything the moment I drug her sodden and bloody body of that rushing river, only that I had a desperate desire to do everything remotely plausible within my ability to save her.

It wasn't a memory I tended to like to linger on for reasons I'd rather not discuss. The only thing of note that I could speak on was after the fact she had felt indebted to me for rescuing her and after fully healing decided on her own that she'd tag along with me, despite my best efforts to detour her away.

I silently watched her retreating form as she padded away, the way in which her ears swiveled slightly outward, how her tail arched in the air, and how she didn't even react to the presence of the cat sitting on the bank of the ditch as she walked directly right by it. But of course, I wouldn't have expected her to. She hasn't the entire time we've traveled together. And for that matter never has the cat ever reacted to her walking pass it. No, its attentions always been focused entirely on me and nothing else.

Just like always.


	2. Chapter 2

The little kit inspected the pile of leaves before looking up at me with questioning eyes.

"What's this?"

"It's medicine."

"What for?"

"To make you feel better."

"I don't want it."

A snicker sounded from my side as I felt my smile strain. Patience Whitepaw, I chanted. Stay cordial and don't get angry. That's the best way to handle these sorts of cases. Yes, of course.

"But don't you want your paw better?" I pleasantly inquired. "You'll be able to run and play with no trouble."

The kit gave another glance towards the herbs as I waited with abated breathe, hope rising in my chest that I had actually gotten through with my reasoning. Her eyes shot back up to me. "No."

The snickering transitioned into outright laughter now and I cast a disgruntled glare in the direction of Canary's smug face. She wasn't helping the situation, appearing more and more amused by the second, but to be fair neither was the kit's unwillingness to let me apply the dock leaves to her injured paw.

While passing through this small twoleg settlement, we ended up venturing across this young cat limping. Heralding her down, I followed up with a quick inspection to reveal a few light scratches on the pads of her left foreleg, making it a bit uncomfortable for her to place any real weight on it.

It was a minor thing really. A bit of dock rubbed over the cuts would've set her right after a brief rest to let it set in. However, since going to retrieve the dock from my reserve of herbs, the kit had become quite resistant to any sort of aid, despite my best attempts to coax her otherwise. And truth be told, I was starting to lose my control of the situation.

"Look," I began testily when, all of sudden, Canary stepped out in front of me.

"You want to see something amazing?" She asked the kit with bright eyes.

She nodded enthusiastically in response.

Swiveling to her left, Canary turned to display her scarred side. "Do you see this?" She cheerily indicated to the severe blemish on her creamy flank. "This is what happens when you don't let others apply medicine to your wounds. Your paw will look just like this."

My stomach dropped the exact same moment as the kit's mouth did. Canary fixed us both in her sight, eyes dancing merrily with pure delight.

The kit allowed me to work from there while Canary sat back in watch, humming quite pleased to herself. I ripped the dock apart and then chewed the pieces into a ready adhesive that I then applied to the cuts under her paw. It was short, efficient work that didn't arise a single mewl of protest out of the kitten.

Before setting her off on her way, I gave a strict set of instruction to follow regarding her paw and then watched as she slowly departed, leaving a bit more traumatized then she had been before we'd arrived.

With that matter settled, I now turned my attention to my other problem. "Was that necessary?"

Canary glanced my way with wide innocent eyes. "What do you mean?"

I could feel the sigh building in my chest even before I'd begun to inhale. "You didn't have to step in like that. I had it well enough under control without you terrifying the kitten into a moon worth of nightmares."

"It doesn't work when others know you're pretending to be nice," she said slyly. "Your face is much too open, Whitepaw. It's easy to tell what you're really thinking most of the time with just a glance."

A long frown creased my face.

"Don't be too put off by it," Canary continued. "I personally enjoy that quality about you. It's impossible for you to ever be deceitful. So in that sense you're the most trustworthy cat I've ever met."

"I'm honored," I replied dryly.

"You should be." She flicked the tip of her tail across my nose while grinning. "Usually someone as dour as you would never have garnered my attention."

_Lucky me_, I thought, choosing not to verbalize this in favor of avoiding a quick rebuttal from Canary.

Although mentally I acknowledged Canary was just teasing me with her usual bout of banter, the fact that my emotions and intent were so readily evident on my face bothered me. A lot more even then I was willing to admit to myself.

I quickly relieved myself of these thoughts, acutely aware that it wasn't worth the psychological baggage that would surely fall like a hailstorm if I allowed any further exploration down that morose path. Improving is what was most important. This only meant more time to do so was necessary is all.

What I wasn't aware of, while collecting my straying thoughts, was Canary silently appraising me. To suddenly find her inquisitive gaze rifting across my face made me immediately uncomfortable. Awkwardly, I shifted my weight from my front paws to back before hastily clearing my throat.

"Am I really all that interesting for you to be studying so intently?" I'd asked, trying to cover my own discomfort.

It wasn't often that I witnessed an expression not derived from merriment, concerning Canary. Actually, it was next to never. Her emotions were tightly reigned in for the most part. So to be the focal point of her attention now, in a manner absent of jokes or teasing, changed the entire dynamic of the natural order between us.

Canary blinked twice, her green eyes glimmering briefly before the glint gradually receded.

"Calling you interesting is a bit of a stretch," she replied. "Mildly appealing, maybe."

She was back to normal, I see.

"So, how did it feel?"

I looked at her in confusion. What was she talking about? "How did what feel?"

Canary shook her head disparagingly, as though I'd just disappointed her. "Your more oblivious than a kit. I'm talking about you finally getting the chance to treat someone. The last chance you got was me, and that was quite awhile ago."

She was right. In the heat of the moment, it had completely slipped my mind that the kit was the first cat I had gotten to actually treat in moons. How did I feel? The difference between when I'd had to save Canary from near death and the light scratch on the kit's paw were so drastically polarizing in every way possible, except for one thing. And it was that sole singularity that persevered through.

"I guess it made me feel useful," I answered with some reluctance. Being deliberately transparent like this still wasn't something I was comfortable with, most of all with someone like Canary. Though I felt embarrassed, it still felt liberating in a way to voice myself in this way. "I hope I get the chance to do it again. No matter how serious or minuscule, I want to help any and everyone I possibly can."

"I'm sure you will," Canary said. "And on the subject, why don't you try remembering this. Gloom doesn't suit you well, Whitepaw. I prefer my toms optimistic. The sort of type that doesn't allow careless remarks to worry them." We locked eyes. "Understand?"

The look she gave me sent a shiver down my spine, but it wasn't one of uneasiness. Mesmerized by the will pouring out of her eyes, I could only nod my head in compliance. It was the only thing it seemed I was able to do.

"Good," she answered, bypassing my still form without another word. Watching her march on, my mind was still abuzz with what she'd just said.

That was...surprisingly nice of her. Canary had chosen to do it in her own way, but still, the sentiment had made its way through. I hadn't expected that of her, but then again, I had to remind myself that there was very little of her that I did know about, which got me to thinking as I hastily picked up my herbs and rushed after her.

What had Canary's life been like before we'd met? I had never once built the courage to ask in fear that she would then poke a sharp nose into my clouded past. That was not something that I was ready to address. Especially not with the thing following after me that was basically blind to all eyes except mines.

Falling in step besides Canary, I cast a quick glance at the coarse patch of skin where the scar resided on her body. I'd always known how, but never ventured to ask why she'd been injured so severely. The scar on her body was inflicted by the claws of another cat, that much I knew, having personally tended to the wound myself.

The reason behind why though, was something that she had never mentioned, and chances were that she never would. At least not in the time being. I guess we both had our own secret traumas. Her's being visible for the world to see while mines lurked just outside my sight, making sure I always knew it was present.


	3. Chapter 3

Silence.

Shafts of sunlight peeked through the canopy of treetops as I lounged under the shade of a stout elderwood. The air of the forest was mild in nature, with a decent gust of occasional breeze blowing as I rested on my paws, lazily watching as a small trail of ants descended into their sandy hilltops.

It was too still. The surrounding area entirely too quiet. Sighing softly, I averted my gaze from the ants and closed my eyes. I needed something to smile at. A thing that didn't require much prodding or imagination to suddenly become interesting.

Desire is a strong thing, though. And what I usually reached out for came to my beckon like a shinning white light of hope. Or maybe it was just Whitepaw. I guess he works to.

A disgruntled grunt alerted me to the arrival of my resident glowering white tom emerging from the depths of the underbrush. A collection of twigs, green smear, and mottled leaves clung to his disheveled fur as he leaned down to remove a brown root lodged in-between his toes.

A snide remark immediately began to poke at the inside of my cheek, desperate to be released. Who was I to deny it rightful freedom?

"And here we observe the medicine cat once again in its natural habitat of grime and filth."

Whitepaw rose his head, root dangling from his mouth and expression sour, as I smiled in turn.

"You could help, you know," he said, having spat the root from his teeth. "Another nose would speed this process up."

"And dirty my paws by digging around in the dirt?" I gasped in feigned horror. I took especial care to widen my eyes to emphasize the point. "Not to say it's beneath me, but I'd say this sort of job fits you perfectly."

I suppressed a small laugh as Whitepaw grimly shook his head while unknowingly causing a clout of leaves to scatter from his coat. He glared my way, agitation clear on his tight features. You can tell when he's truly annoyed by how abruptly rigid his body goes. It usually means he's holding his breathe while trying to reel back in his temper.

"I hear cats with too much pride later come to regret it," he snipped at me.

"Oh, I agree. Thankfully, I'm humble as they come."

Rolling his eyes, he mockingly replied with, "How modest of you."

A grin twitched at the edge of my lips. This wasn't a game he could win. "Right? It takes a truly illustrious individual to be so forthcoming about them self."

I said this with the utmost degree of blind awareness laced through my tone, which only served to darken his mood. Growling, he stomped off in a direction adjacent of me without a further word. A shame, really. He usually engaged more, and now there was just a mild disappointment he hadn't stayed a bit longer.

Apparently, he's run out of a certain herb that's a necessity for casual healing. The fact, that after multiple failed attempts, he had yet managed to acquire it was depleting his already withered resolve. Poor Whitepaw. He has this bad habit of becoming completely flustered in the face of duress. It's charming in its own way, I suppose, watching him flounder about like a fish out of water. His face is even more similar to one when he becomes outraged about something.

Imagine a fish as it lays there with a wide, gaping mouth and now envision Whitepaw the same way, but even more affronted than the fish ever could possibly be.

I leaned back against the round trunk of the elderwood, staring off in the direction Whitepaw had departed through half-lidded eyes. I'd certainly enjoyed the break in our aimless journey, but over half the day had passed overhead spent on this silly quest. My itching paws were a signal that I was growing restless, and without Whitepaw around to banter with, I was left with the empty silence of the forest as my only companion.

That wasn't the most inviting thing I could think of. I suppose it was time to offer him some assistance.

I slid from the tree and smoothly onto my paws with a light stretch. Whitepaw had trudged up and down this forest without much success for the better part of the day. I was familiar enough with the elusive herb he'd been chasing after, so it was time to see what I could accomplish where his frustration had failed him.

I opened my mouth, drinking in the scents of the area as a rush of pine and nettle met my tongue. Tasting the air again, I allowed the mingled scents to settle with me this time before delving into them deeper. Hidden underneath the smell of pine was the familiar musky twang of squirrel. Searching a bit further, I also uncovered a mild hint of mint and the sickly sweet aroma of tree sap.

Being able to quickly and efficiently siphon through and identify different scents at once was a talent I'd acquired in my youth. From what I knew, Whitepaw had been raised in a similar manner, but one which placed more of an emphasis on plants. Mine I was a lot broader, made to detect scents casual and those local to only specific environments.

I picked up on something a bit murky that immediately differentiated itself from the other scents. Letting it tug me forward, I set off in the exact opposite direction Whitepaw had ventured, the irony of which caused me to grin. Competent with using herbs he may be, possessing the patience to locate them in foreign areas he did not.

The board dark leaves adorned along black hairy stems popped into my eyesight in a matter of heartbeats. Comfrey leaves. I wonder how many times that silly tom had walked directly past here without the slightest idea, running lost like a kit without its mother?

I gathered a tiny mouthful of the leaves and turned to go when the scent of squirrel flooded my nostrils. I paused midstep, turning back in thoughtful consideration.

A section of time had elapsed when I found Whitepaw head deep, tight knotted, mulling around in a clump of bracken. His erect, taut stature was enough to notify me that his search had come up empty, and he was trying to maintain some sense of composure before erupting.

If that was the case, he certainly didn't want to see what I very much wanted to show him. Not uttering a single thing, I calmly deposited the squirrel and comfrey at his paws before sitting back to wait. It didn't take long.

He took one glance at them and then narrowed his eyes at me as I sat there in the pure image of innocence. His expected response was instantaneous.

"Is this meant to taunt me?"

"No, the squirrel is meant to feed you. Now eat. You haven't ate a thing all day."

He cast another look down at my gift and huffed stubbornly. "I don't need it."

"Nonsense."

"I can catch my _own_ prey."

"I've seen you '_hunt_'. You'll starve before the day ends."

"I won't!" He hotly contested. Or otherwise would have if not for the timely rumble that killed his entire argument in one fell swoop. I wasn't sure what was bigger: his surprise or my grin.

"Your stomach says otherwise," I teased.

He plopped down in defeat, stuffing large bites of the squirrel into his mouth now without protest. The next while was simply filled with the sound of him eating while I enjoyed the fact that the empty space was now whole.

"Thank you," Whitepaw stated after a stint, before hastily adding, "I could've found it on my own, though."

It was the most kit like response he could've made. The urge to laugh was strong, but I had another method in mind to tease him with. I suddenly closed the space between us and leaned forward, dropping my voice down to a crooning whisper. "I know. I did it because I wanted to."

Satisfaction bloomed in my chest at the frazzled look on his face. He shifted uncomfortably, but otherwise didn't draw back from the attention. Immediately latching on to this, I pressed onward with my objective.

"Oh, do you like it when I'm this close to you?"

Purring softly, I drew in close enough that we brushed muzzles. Whitepaw's eyes went out of focus and I smirked. I pressed in more, continuing to purr and making our muzzles briefly brush again. He was slowly trailing after my voice now, entranced and completely oblivious to anything else. The instant he came in closer, I abruptly pulled back, leaving him hanging out alone, dazed and confused.

He snapped out of it almost immediately, the look of embarrassment intermingled with anger on his face enough to send me into a laughing fit.

In so many ways he was still like a kit. His face so young and naive. He wore his emotions plainly on display for the world to see. Whether conscious of it or not, his mood was sporadic as the weather in leaf-bare. One instant he could be clear minded as the sky and the next tumbling down like rainfall.

A cat shouldn't be so easily manipulated, in my opinion. For whatever reason, though, a part of me found Whitepaw's trusting nature not only fun to twist, but oddly endearing.

I lightly slid the tip of my tail across his nose to dispel his dour expression. "Stop pouting. We got what we came for, didn't we? Relax."

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled. "Try enduring the company of a nuisance on a daily basis."

The grin on my face was automatic and wicked. "I already do, but you shouldn't worry, Whitepaw. Your company will always be welcomed with me."

"I meant your company is barely tolerated by me," he shot back.

Eyes downcast while drooping my ears and tail, I adopted a pitiful tone, murmuring, "Is that true? Do you really not want me around? What am I meant to do if even the white savior that gave my life new meaning, doesn't want me?"

I observed with rising glee, his embarrassment immediately resurface.

"You shouldn't joke about stuff like that, Canary! Wounds of your severity aren't something to just dismiss or laugh away. Cats have died from less."

"I'd never joke about being grateful to you for my life, Whitepaw," I said, dropping the sad tone before sliding beside him. "All the love I possess and share is my gift to you in return."

We locked eyes for a moment before he broke it by turning away with a tiered sigh. "You're doing it again."

I kept my tone explicitly vague. "Doing what?"

He glanced back at me uneasily. "You know what. That thing where you make impossible for me tell whether you're being serious or not."

That look of honest uncertainty on his face was cute. He really was still just like a kit in so many ways.

"What's there to question?" I said. "Rest comfortably, knowing there isn't another cat I'd rather be with right now than you."

Which was true. Several images of different faces briefly flashed my mind. Yes, he was definitely the only one. You didn't have to constantly question the motives of cats that healed wounds instead of inflicting them.


End file.
